


Unspoken Words

by Fantasiasies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasiasies/pseuds/Fantasiasies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean retreats into his head filled with fantasies because the other option would be to hear the whispered insults, see the judging looks. Something changes when a weird, silent boy starts tracing his steps home every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken Words

Dean closes his eyes and dreams of a world where everyone worships him, sees him as a God, he has beautiful servants lining up everything he ever wanted side by side in the gardens that are his, and he has insects, but they don’t sting or irritate him, the butterflies land on his soldiers and all his people think about how wonderful he is every waking moment.

It distracts him from the chatter in the classroom, the way everyone walks a meter circumference around his table.

He closes his eyes again in the changing rooms and he’s the most powerful samurai, he unsheathes his sword with a flourish, and the blade glints in the light and everyone knows him as the Saviour, the one who brings justice in the darkness. The fantasy disappears when he hears ‘retard’ from somewhere amongst the boys, and he opens his eyes and realises he hasn’t moved for minutes.

He feels a worse pang of shame when his brother avoids him, choosing to walk a different way home with his friends, while Dean self-consciously looks down at his crumpled tie, the shoes that the soles are coming off.

 As he is walking he imagines his favourite cartoon characters when he was little, imagines them walking side by side with him, just talking to him. He doesn’t need to say much for them to insist of his greatness, he walks slightly in front of them, coat tail flapping in the wind purposefully. He’s so caught up in his daydream he nearly doesn’t notice the boy trailing just behind him.

It’s the third day he’s walked side by side with this boy who always manages to leave school straight after him, and Dean shoves down his confidence issues, represses the memory of his class giggling at him, and tries to appear friendly. ‘Hi’ he says, dropping back a bit, and the boy just nods his head in response, a small smile tugging at the thick lips, eyes squinted in concentration on Dean’s face.

After that, they walk together, the boy close enough to Dean to convince Dean they’re friends. Dean falls asleep to that thought, but a nagging thought in the corner of his minds says ‘maybe it’s a dare, maybe he’s laughing at you’. Dean pushes it away for another day.

After the second week of walking in silence, Dean asks the boy ‘What’s your name?’ Blue eyes glint, and the boy stops, and Dean feels compelled to wait for him.

He pulls out a notebook and writes impeccably precisely ‘Castiel’. Dean lets himself grin, even though Sam told him it make him look retarded. He likes that name. Castiel’s normal stoic face slips a little and his eyebrows unclench, and Castiel suddenly looks much more youthful, less like a teacher and more like a student.

‘Is there a Castiel in our school?’ Dean asks Sam that evening. Sam shakes his head, no, he would know with a name that strange.

Dean does a weird thing the next day. He stands by the exit of the school doors and waits until Castiel comes out.

And waits.

He waits until it starts to get dark, and then he walks home, taking out his dejected feelings on numerous pebbles.

Groans as he is assigned to a ‘popular’ person. When they sit down they talk to him, as if he were normal. Dean hates that kind of person the most, he hates them because if they were snide to his face at least he could complain. He tells Matt he’ll finish the rest of the project at home, he feels sick just looking at his face. Matt thanks him, Dean seething inside, and the teacher looks approvingly between them both. Dean hears a quiet ‘that was nice of you Matt’ from inside the classroom as he leaves, and he really does want to punch something.

Castiel joins him again, Dean walks a bit closer just to feel their shoulders brush. He times his steps with Castiel’s subconsciously as he looks down at their pairs of feet. ‘Where do you study?’ he asks Castiel, who gets a cute little notepad and pen out of his pocket. _Where did you get the scar on your face from?_ Dean feels like they’ve reached an impasse, but it’s not a broody silence when he waves goodbye at his front door, it’s friendly, almost comforting.

Dean’s just started walking when Castiel tugs at his arm and points to a house. _I live there. I’m home schooled._ Dean looks from the notebook to Castiel’s face, and when they’re a safe distance from the house, he starts talking.

‘Someone tried to mug my parents when I was thirteen.’ Dean automatically brushes a finger over the scar that runs from the top of his forehead down to his chin. ‘He got my mum, and managed to flail at me before dad held him down until the cops came.’ He stops, because he can’t form proper sentences, can’t get what’s in his mind out if he’s walking. ‘It’s ugly. Sam doesn’t like looking at me. Dad’s back after we go to bed, so he just doesn’t.’ Either the ugliness or the pain of remembering the incident, Dean doesn’t know which one would be worse.

Castiel reaches a hand up, tracing the segment of the scar that runs across Dean’s lips. _You’re beautiful._ He shows Dean later just as Dean is about to leave for home. This time, instead of continuing on the same road, Castiel turns round back towards the house. Dean sleeps better that night, and wakes up optimistic.

Dean waits outside Castiel’s house, leaning on the wall when Castiel comes out. The wind is strong, and seeing Castiel cuddled up into his thick coat like that, like a little turtle makes Dean grin. Castiel’s eyes flicker up to Dean’s and they’re especially bright today. ‘I’m doing something for my English GCSE – could you check it through?’ Dean hands the sheets of papers to Castiel, a ‘I’m sorry’ about to follow when Castiel full out smiles, teeth and everything and Dean wonders why anyone would be that happy to do someone else a favour.

The next day he finds out why, walking along next to Castiel ‘What the hell! You’ve rearranged everything and now it flows so well, dude, I don’t think my English teacher will even know what half of these words mean!’

Castiel squeezes Deans hand briefly, and Dean just wants the hand to stay there, but when he looks at Castiel, Castiel’s looking shyly at the ground and Dean feels this warmth he hasn’t felt for so long.

He spends the weekend wishing he could go to Castiel’s house, but knowing that wouldn’t be okay. Maybe it would. Dean feels awkward and new to this and strangely hopeful. Instead of dreaming about being a badass pirate, this time he daydreams about Castiel.

His classmates ask to see his draft. For the first time he says ‘No.’ and they go away murmuring about selfishness and ‘what’s his problem’ and Dean really, really wants to punch someone.

He goes back after lunch to see Matt and a few of his friends reading the essay he left on his desk. And suddenly, he feels his irritation outweighing his fear of what will happen. He launches at Matt, earning a startled shout, and punches, once, twice, stands up and kicks him. Matt limps off, some of his friends glaring at Dean, some trying at all costs to avoid eye contact in case he decides to pounce on them. Dean picks the essay up off the floor, smoothes it out.

Matt apparently decides not to tell anyone. But everyone knows, the slightly purple stain on his jawbone giving it all away.

Dean tells Castiel about it that day, and Castiel looks up concernedly at Dean. _Violence is never the answer._ Dean laughs and replies ‘Love not war, right?’ and Castiel’s calming gaze, the slight narrowing of his eyes in mirth stirs up something in Dean he’s been feeling for a while.

Dean gets 40/40 on his essay, but Castiel doesn’t come out of his house that day. Saturday, and Dean gathers up the courage, knocks on the door. Castiel’s dad answers the door, Dean asks whether he’s there and Castiel comes out of the house, slightly more dishevelled than normal, eyes opened wide. They walk in a random direction, until Dean stops, throws his arms around Castiel, and whispers ‘thank you’. Dean doesn’t mention the essay, doesn’t want it to be about the essay, and then he pulls back a bit and experimentally brushes his lips against Castiel’s.

Castiel responds slightly, and the chaste kiss ends quicker than It started, but Dean knows, knows not to push it, knows not to ask what they’re doing because of the invisible lines, the instinctive barrier.

Dean doesn’t see Castiel that week, or the next. Tuesday, and Castiel walks by Dean, shoves his shoulder a bit too hard. _Don’t come by my house._ Dean gulps the block in his throat, feels his eyes getting moist, because he knew, the whole week he knew. He’d messed things up but he wouldn’t have done it any other way. Castiel’s rough hand guides away some of the tears and after a while nudges Dean a bit more gently. _My parents are more concerned about me than most._ Dean understands, because Cas is the most precious person he’s come across, and he would be protective too, so he hugs Castiel, just stands there in the middle of Farmsborough Avenue for a while. _Give it time._ Castiel writes.

I can do that, Dean thinks.

Give it time. He runs his index finger across the scar tissue on his face, and feels the old emotion of affection for the first time in three years, for this boy with the untamed hair and the perfect face.

And over time, Castiel turns the silences of his childhood – laden with unspoken words, blame filled looks, into the comfortable loving silence of the place Dean feels truly at home.

 


End file.
